by Zee Monodee
“You’ll catch your death in those clothes,” he said against her hair.
He released her and grabbed her hand, before he tugged her towards the stairs. Margo complied, too tired, too overwrought, to complain.
He marched her into his bathroom, divested her of her soaked coat. Seemed to her he took a pair of scissors to the scrubs she wore.
“Come on. That’s a good girl.” His tone thrummed low, soothing, as he led her to the tub where the hot spray from the showerhead built up steam.
She didn’t know how long she remained sitting in that tub under the warm jet. The water washed over her, mingled with her tears, until her eyes ran dry.
She’d broken down. She’d kept her act together at the lab, yet she’d crumbled in the end. She, who’d never thought emotion could ever get the better of her.
Why couldn’t she be made of stone? That way, nothing would hurt.
Nothing will even touch you.
Is that a bad thing? she asked the little voice.
Isn’t there something that’s worth the turmoil?
She recoiled into herself. Turmoil? She’d never signed up for that.
Someone pulled the shower curtain aside and turned the water off.
She glanced up. Jamie stood next to the tub. In his hands, he held a big, fluffy towel that he wrapped around her.
She would swear his warmth spread everywhere when the fabric enveloped her.
He made her step out, then led her into the bedroom, lowered her into a sitting position on the edge of the bed.
The mattress sagged when he sat beside her, and she pulled the towel closer around her. A whiff of his cologne touched her nostrils, the scent fresh, outdoorsy, with a note of citrus. She turned her head, to find him close, so close to her.
“How did you manage to get through to Emma?”
“Different service provider from yours.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t add anything else, just grateful he sat there, and that he didn’t leave her alone.
“Want to tell me what happened today?”
His eyes beckoned, warm, open. With a smile, he encouraged her disclosure.
With anybody else, she would’ve been wary. Not with Jamie. Never with him. Because he understood. He knew her, for exactly who she was. With him, there existed no façade, no smokescreen, no carefully created persona.
When had she ever felt so free, so liberated with a man, with another person, even? With Cora, perhaps—yet, then, she’d been the responsible one who’d had to make sure the mature aspect of her personality took precedence.
But here sat Jamie. Her calm shore during the storm ...
So she opened her mouth, and the words poured out. She held nothing back—none of the horror she had experienced today, none of the distress that had racked her senseless when she hadn’t been able to reach Emma.
Sometime during her monologue, which he never interrupted, he’d brought a hand up and settled his palm on her shoulder. Through the terry towel, his warmth seeped into her. Like the sun’s rays bathing a frail flower. Like a life force replenishing a dying seedling.
He brushed a damp strand of hair off her forehead, across her temple, behind her ear. His touch flittered light, fleeting—almost hesitant.
Don’t stop touching me.
She parted her mouth, face angled towards his. Gazes sought out the depths of one another’s souls, wanting to cling to life when death circled on a macabre merry-go-round in their periphery.
Hunger lingered on his face, in the tense jaw, in those burning brown irises with their whiskey-gold flecks.
Alive. That’s what we are.
Closing her eyes, she bridged the gap between them, and let her lips touch his. His mouth opened under hers, taking over the kiss. He brought his hand up and cupped her jaw, pulled her closer, tasting all of her.
Margo moaned. How could a kiss embody so much? Desire, passion, that sense of belonging, of finally coming home?
Jamie broke away on a breathless gasp. His forehead lay pressed against hers, his eyes shut tight, as if in pain, when she dared look at him.
“Tell me to stop.”
His voice came out as a raspy, husky murmur that tore her heart.
No. She didn’t want him to.
She wanted him. All of him.
So she kissed him again.
“You’re sure this is what you want?” he asked, his intense gaze searching hers for her true answer.
Gulp. Could she do this? Should she?
“You. You’re what I want.”
Fire glimmered in his eyes. And then he smiled, and the world set right on its axis again.
When he next kissed her, she surrendered. Opened up to him, let him take over. Allowed him in. The towel slipped from her shoulders, baring her to his hot, appreciative gaze.
“You’re more beautiful than I imagined.”
His words soothed her ragged soul like balm, and she basked in the open admiration he bestowed onto her.
This would lead to only one place. Together. Two entities joining to make one. Completion. Solace.
Home.
She’d wanted this with no other man, not this debilitating yearning for redemption, and for once, she’d take what she yearned for. Even if only for today, he would be hers, as she would be his.
Fuelled by determination and an insane desire to fill the empty half of her, she reached out to Jamie. Hands in his thick, silky hair, she revelled in the sensation of touching him in ways she’d only imagined before. When she trailed her fingers to his T-shirt, he needed no further prompt to answer her silent plea. He ditched the garment, baring the impressive expanse of his broad chest to her appraisal. Unable to resist, she dipped her head lower and trailed kisses along his collarbone, darted her tongue out to taste his skin.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” he said on a chuckle that vibrated under her lips.
What? She jerked her head up, seeking an answer on his face.
He grinned, before cupping her face and taking her mouth in a searing kiss. He took her through this single act, but she wanted everything, all the way.
When she pushed him on his back on the bed, he laughed and rolled her over until she lay pinned against the mattress under his warm, hard body. The rough denim of his trousers rubbed against her heated skin, and despite him not being naked yet, she relished the sensation. Because she could finally feel ...
And then kisses, caresses, hands and lips battled for her capitulation. Somehow, the jeans came off, and Jamie lay on top of her, sheathed and ready to claim her as his.
“Take me,” she murmured, and he did.
She’d finally come home.
Chapter Nine
Margo awoke to the feeling of weight bearing down on her limbs. She moved a leg, and her skin prickled from the tingling brush of a hair-roughened thigh. Her eyes still closed, she rubbed her cheek against the soft cotton of the casing on a downy pillow, caught a whiff of a light and sporty, masculine scent. The sound of rain beating down hard blanketed the house with its steady rush.
Jamie. Everything about that moment reminded her of him, of what had happened once he’d claimed her mouth and his firm, hard body had pushed hers onto the bed.
A smile stretched her lips.
“Why are you grinning like the Cheshire Cat?”
She opened her eyes to find him watching her, with one side of his head buried in his pillow. His hair fell in a tumble, spiking above his forehead.
She reached out and ran the tips of her fingers in the dark brown locks. Silky, smooth, clean—her touch confirmed what she’d thought of his hair. She trailed her hand down, gently running over the shell of his ear, the stubble-roughened cheek, the soft lips.
He sucked one finger in when she touched his mouth, and ran his tongue against the soft pad.
“Payback,” he said when he released her. He then settled a hand on her cheek, before claiming her mouth again.
It should’ve been awkward, kissing somebody right a
fter she’d woken up with him. Why wasn’t that the case with Jamie? She never could stand the thought of anyone seeing her before she had primped herself, ready to hit the day.
At least, that’s how things had stood when she’d lived with David. The man hadn’t been a kisser, though.
Not like Jamie, who took every opportunity to lock lips with her.
The thought made her giggle, and he broke away.
“What’s funny?”
At the confusion on his features, something inside her softened. “I’ve never been kissed like this before.”
“Really? You better get used to it.”
In his voice, the words sounded like a sensual drawl, an invitation to delicious wickedness.
This isn’t a one-off occurring. How did that knowledge make her feel? She had shied off contemplating the future, after Harry and David. With David, she’d known what she was getting into—they hadn’t had sex until they’d started living together.
When Harry had taken her virginity ...
She didn’t want to think of that. Not right then.
“What’s the matter?” Jamie released her jaw and inched his hand up to play with her hair above her ear.
“Nothing.”
Back then, at twenty-one, she’d thought their future settled. Harry would come round to loving her once she gave him what he wanted, and then she would become his one and only, as he was for her. Alas ...
“Margo.” Jamie’s voice rumbled in a soft whisper. He drew closer to her on the bed and placed a kiss on her forehead.
Tears burnt her eyes. So much tenderness in that gesture.
He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her to his chest, and settled his chin on the top of her head.
“Talk to me,” he said.
Sheltered in his embrace, with a sense of peace she’d never felt before, she hovered on a brink. The very thought that a man’s arms provided sanctuary should have had her running for cover. Yet, how could she, when her soul begged for shelter?
No, she couldn’t ponder all that. Not at that moment. Not ever, hopefully. The wound Harry had inflicted still throbbed raw. She’d thought it closed—emphasis on thought. Being with Jamie forced her to examine the purulent lesion, to let the ugly seepage flow out.
That’s how it would heal.
Before reaching that point, though, the darkness would contaminate everything.
That, she didn’t want.
“Margo,” he said, his arms closing ever tighter around her.
Some other time, Jamie. Someday, I might feel like I can tell you ...
“What time is it?” she asked.
He sighed, the rumble of his chest as the air worked in and out of his lungs vibrating against her ear. He released one arm and reached for the Tissot watch on the bedside table.
“Quarter past four.”
“I should get going.”
“Woman!” A hint of exaggerated exasperation hung in the word. “It’s still pitch dark, and the storm has yet to let up.”
“I have to get to work.”
Stalling, and withdrawal. The thought of Harry had killed her joy at waking up next to Jamie. There’d be other times, though, she hoped. He wouldn’t settle for a one-night stand; neither would she.
What she got in for—who knew? Not the time to dwell upon that.
“I’m not letting you drive in that rain again.”
As if Mother Nature had heard his words, the downpour ceased. The quiet struck as surreal, her sense of hearing disoriented by the sudden change in pitch.
She smiled against his chest. “There you are.”
He groaned. “At such an ungodly hour?”
She rose up on an elbow. The white pillow haloed his handsome face. His features appeared relaxed, hair mussed again. Something squeezed her heart. She wanted to touch him, to reassure herself he was not some insubstantial creation of her mind. Yet, she hesitated, afraid to reach out, afraid to bridge the gap.
She bit her lip, hard. Everything seemed too unreal. She, who had never left the plane of hard-driven sanity, knew not how to react any longer.
He reached out and touched her shoulder, then gently raked his fingers across her nape, drawing her hair over the opposite curve of her neck along the way. Shivers danced down her spine, and she moaned, eyes closing in pure bliss.
Damn.
“No one should have to get up before six,” he said in that lazy drawl, before he lifted his head and placed his lips on the collarbone he’d just bared.
Bring back some sanity, Nolan.
“Speaketh the doctor who worked Accidents & Emergency,” she said on a gasp when he nipped her earlobe.
“Made me appreciate any time I could get more than two consecutive hours of sleep.”
Had they gotten more than two consecutive hours of sleep in the past night? She doubted it. Heat flamed over her skin—from the memories, or from what his mouth and tongue were doing to the sensitive skin of her neck?
She was losing it.
He travelled his mouth along her jaw line, on her chin, and settled against her lips. He then dipped a hand to the small of her back, where, with the tips of his fingers, he drew feather-light circles along her skin as he inched further down.
Give in, he seemed to ask.
The heady rush of pleasure sparked along every nerve of her body. She couldn’t stop herself from kissing him in return, from tangling her limbs with his, from rolling onto her back and drawing his big body over hers, her arms wrapped around his neck.
How did she think she could fight?
I give in.
***
“What’s on the other side of that door?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
He turned wide eyes to her, and she shrugged. The movement made the fabric of his shirt rub along her naked skin in a sensual caress.
No, no, no—they wouldn’t have a rehash of the past couple of hours. While true that anything pertaining to Jamie sparked the libido she hadn’t known she possessed, it would take more than wearing his damn shirt to get her to think like a total trollop again.
Discomfited, she lashed out. “How would I know?”
He quirked one eyebrow. “Because it’s your half of the house on the other side?”
He had a point. Bugger.
“Why don’t we open it and find out?”
Why didn’t she just walk out the front door, around the building, and into her house’s entrance?
Because she couldn’t stand the risk of being spotted traipsing around the place wearing Jamie’s clothes. Clothes, ha! A button-down shirt and nothing else. Her clothing, ruined from the downpour last night, still lay in a soggy heap on his bathroom floor.
The double-fronted dwelling had a connecting door—so why not try it out? Jamie’s idea.
“If you say so,” he said on a sigh.
Fiddling with the knob, he braced himself against the small armoire they had moved out of the way and pulled. The wood gave way in a creak of broken plaster, and the two of them stared through the dust-filled opening into Margo’s kitchen.
A demi-console barred the connecting space, and she pushed it to the side with ease.
Once in her house, she reached for the doorknob and pulled the door closed. Jamie braced his foot in the opening and dragged the panel open again.
“I don’t even get a goodbye kiss?”
She stared into his smiling face, at the wicked glint in his eye. “No, you don’t.”
Pulling the door closed, she pushed the half-table into its place and turned. Shock held her in place, because Polina stood in the kitchen, her mouth hanging open.
“Dr. Nolan,” the young woman said softly.
What a hussy you are, Margo heard.
How could she not have thought that the nanny could be here? Emma hadn’t come back yet, and she’d only worried about her daughter finding out about her escapade of the previous night.
Do something.
Holding her head hi
gh, she gave Polina a curt nod. “Good morning.”
She then breezed past the young woman and headed up the stairs.
Good grief. What do I do?
She busied herself with getting ready for work. When a big black Range Rover pulled up outside and Emma bounded out, she found her escape from any further conversation with Polina.
Emma flung herself into Margo’s open arms when she reached her, and she held her daughter for a long time. The feel of that fragile body in her embrace, the vanilla smell of the frizzy hair—she tagged every molecule of the encounter inside her brain and heart.
Looking up, her gaze encountered Robbie’s.
“Thank you,” she mouthed. He nodded.
He’d brought Emma back, yes—and Margo would be eternally grateful he’d brought her into the world, too, creating this amazing life force with Cora.
She’d turned out to be the lucky one, though, because she got to be the girl’s mother from here on.
The feeling stayed with her throughout the morning. Once in her office, she sobered, and the pride in having a daughter waned. Other mothers weren’t so lucky, couldn’t boast as she could, because their daughter was gone.
Like the mother of the girl she’d autopsied the day before. She caught a glimpse of the broken woman in her husband’s arms, on a sofa in the visitors’ room. Her step faltered. Part of her wanted to go up and offer her condolences, and the other part of her wanted to run away.
In the past, she’d offered words of sympathy. They had been empty, though. Today, with the afflicted family, a small measure of what they went through dawned upon her. She empathized, and that hurt.
Forensic pathologists knew they shouldn’t allow themselves to feel hurt, to become emotionally involved. Definitely not inside the lab. Outside proved another matter, but if they hoped to do their job well, they’d do better to take a distanced internal approach, irrespective of circumstances.
She walked into her office. Settling at her desk, she stared at the blank screen of her laptop. She should be typing up her preliminary report on the latest autopsy. The case being high-priority, the sooner they closed it, the better.
“How are you today?” William asked from the doorway.
